Hiya! Here's the next chapter, originally, it was going to include the implementation of their plan, and end with the actual time travel part, but then I realized that would make this chapter way too long and probably force you guys to wait an extra week. I'm updating a little early since I won't have the chance to do so later.

FFV: I'm always so happy to hear-or, uh, read-your enthusiastic reviews! Makes me wish I could respond sooner than my update. Unfortunately, this chapter doesn't really answer any of your questions about time travel, though I will tell you that the future they are currently in does change. Ratchet's past self will provide his own time travel theory after he meets Titania for the first time, which won't be for at least another one or two chapters, and it will further be expanded upon by certain happenings that would spoil the story if I wrote them down here. "I'll make sure the Decepticons can't follow," ah, yes, I do so love the smilarities between those two. ;) As for the writing on Titania's dogtag, I actually took that from the episode "Toxicity" in which Fowler is giving Bulkhead a pep talk that went something like this: F: "You know why you take the mission," B: "Honour, Duty-" F: "Family." I then just expanded upon it a bit.

Anywho, hope you all enjoy!


Chapter Two: The Things We Leave Behind

A tired seven year-old rubbed at her groggy eyes, staring up at the smiling figure whom had woken her from her sleep.

"Daddy?" she mumbled, and yawned.

Jackson Darby sat on the floor beside his daughter's sleeping bag, an old coffee can in his hands; he smiled tiredly at her, body bruised and aching, blood crusting his forehead from where a piece of shrapnel had cut him. Really, the first thing he should have done upon returning to headquarters was go see Ratchet and get cleaned up, but he had come too close to death today to want to be reminded of the fact. He needed to see his little girl.

"Hey honey," Jack whispered quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else up in the large room where the children were kept. He affectionately ran a hand through her hair. "I brought you something."

That woke her up quicker than the smell of food, and she looked excitedly at the coffee can in his hands, wondering what was inside.

Chuckling, he handed it to her, and she peered eagerly within, only to frown at the sight that greeted her.

"It's dirt," She commented blandly, looking up at him with a pout. Jack smiled knowingly.

"Look a little closer."

Frowning, she did, and she saw a spot of colour coiling hesitantly out of the soil, as though fearful of the world it was being born into. Her eyes lit up excitedly.

"Is this, is this a plant?" she asked eagerly, and the reminder that she had never seen one pained Jack deeply.

"Yep, that's a plant," he told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and holding her close. "I found it today, just sitting in the dirt; I was so surprised to see it there that I thought I was dreaming at first, and I wanted to show it to you, so I replanted it and brought it here."

A horrible thought occurred to the little girl as he said this; "But Daddy, won't it die now? Why didn't you leave it there so it could grow?"

Jack sighed, "Because it wouldn't have, sweetheart. I found it on a battlefield; eventually, somebody would have crushed it, whether it was a human or a Con. And do you know why I'm giving it to you?"

She hesitated a moment, considering, and then shook her head.

"Because," he began, "As long as this little guy is alive, there's hope for our planet, for mankind, and I'm trusting you to take care of him and keep him alive."

He kissed her on the forehead, and his next words filled her with a profound sense of purpose and destiny.

"I'm trusting you with our future."


Titania stared sadly at the sickly thing; its lustrous green had faded to yellow long ago, and it was barely hanging onto life. The leaves drooped, and the stem seemed to shiver as though the plant had contracted some sort of chilling fever.

It had been slowly dying for years, just like the planet that was failing to produce more of its kind; and every morning that Titania looked at it, it seemed more ready to give up and decay than the last. The sight made her stomach clench with dread, and she felt like she was somehow failing her father, like she wasn't doing enough to protect the little piece of the future that had passed from his hands to hers.

She inhaled deeply, and then let the breath out as a gusty sigh that set the little plant shivering even more than it had before, and she instantly ceased breathing and watched in horror, for a moment thinking it might suddenly collapse like a felled tree. She gave another, tinier, sigh of relief when it didn't.

Currently, Titania was making her way through the camp with the old coffee can in hand, trying to hunt down one man in particular, yet hoping she wouldn't find him so she wouldn't have to say goodbye, knowing it was the last time she would ever see him.

It had been a month since her uncles had filled her in on their plan to go back in time, and the thought of it still made her reel with disbelief. They were telling her they had found a way to stop all of this from happening at all, and it seemed far, far too good to be true.

Of course, it wasn't going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. They needed a groundbridge to do it, and the only one currently in existence was the one in New Kaon, the Decepticon stronghold itself. She'd only ever heard horror stories about the fortress, and the thought of trying to hold the groundbridge for any length of time was so daunting that it made her feel like she might as well put a gun to her head and pull the trigger herself for all the good it would do them. But she knew there wasn't much choice; it was either do it and succeed or die, or definitely die later.

The past month had been spent in preparation; the plan itself had already been laid and hammered out long before she'd been made privy to it. Of course, it was by no means foolproof, and leaned strongly towards the foolhardy and suicidal, but she agreed with her Uncle Raf and Uncle Ratchet; there were no other options left to them anymore.

During the past thirty days, she had worked hard on building up her endurance far past its already impressive limits, and recent Decepticon encounters during supply runs had her eyeing each enemy like they were a unique opportunity. Each Decepticon was a chance to discover new weaknesses and learn to exploit them, and a chance to reduce the number of Cons that would be in their way later.

Titania wasn't excited about their upcoming mission—she was too scared for that—but she'd be lying if she didn't say that the thought of it—of seeing her parents again, of meeting all the heroes that had died before her birth—filled her with a determination forged from titanium; because, finally, finally, after eight years, there was purpose in her life again, and a way to keep her promise to her father had laid itself at her feet as though by a design of fate. Still, she worried that they might fail, and that was why she was currently planning to entrust this swiftly fading future to someone else, if only to feel like, if she died, she will have truly done all she could.

She found Kicker by the paddock where the cows were kept. They were thin, sickly creatures, with nearly every rib showing, and she often found herself wondering if they were killing themselves faster by drinking their milk and eating what little there was of their flesh.

"Kicker?" She called quietly, her voice seeming too loud to her in the evening gloom as she approached him.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, his expression seeming quite bored, and a glimmer of trepidation flickered through his eyes at the sight of her, making her feel guilty yet again for bringing up her father the last time they had spoken. He seemed to still be upset with her, if the sudden rigidness of his stance was anything to go by, and she couldn't blame him. Titania knew that, if there was anyone in the Resistance who had loved her father as much as she had, it was Kicker. But he wasn't the one carrying Jack Darby's name like an invisible weight on the shoulders that became heavier every day; he wasn't the one who was haunted every night by the knowledge her father had given her, the knowledge that this—all of this—was not how it should be. She couldn't help but both envy and resent him for it.

"Did you need something?" Kicker asked; she stayed silent a long moment, having difficulties remembering the speech she had rehearsed just for this. All of her words seemed like senseless jabber now that she was standing here before him, trying to say goodbye for the last time without wanting him to know that it was so.

"Yes," she finally replied, and practically thrust the plant into his arms, wincing as it wobbled dangerously on its stem with the motion, "I…I have to go away for a while, I'm not sure when I'll be back," I'll never be back, she amended silently,"And I was hoping you could take care of this little fella for me."

For a long while, Kicker simply stood there, staring dumbly at her as he held the coffee can she had forced into his arms.

"What do you mean you're 'going away'?" He demanded suspiciously after a moment, eyes narrowing contemplatively. She straightened her posture, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she let out a huff that she hoped he would interpret as annoyance; particularly, as annoyance at the apparent density of his brain.

"I mean, I'm going away; you know, as in leaving the camp and going somewhere else?"

"But…why?"

She very nearly turned around and marched away at that moment, finding herself irritated by all the questioning. Though, if she were completely honest with herself, she would admit that it was because she didn't want to look at him anymore than she had to. Because if there was one thing she was going to miss about this future at all, it was going to be him.

Their relationship had always been an odd one. They were friends, best friends; but that had never stopped them from trading harsh words and just plain hating each other's guts somedays. That had never stopped them from picking at each other's deepest wounds, splitting them open again only to then desperately try stemming the flow of fresh blood that streamed into the present from the past. She couldn't be certain—since she'd never truly had one of her own—but Titania thought that, perhaps, that was just what siblings did to each other. They beat each other down because they could—had to, even, to feel that an accident of birth could never, never damn them—but, at the end of the day, were willing to build each other back up because their anger could never hold a candle to the fear of losing the other.

As it was, the thought of never seeing him again made Titania's throat close up, made her thoughts repeat like a broken record—no, no, no—and made her want to latch onto him and beg him to stay no matter what. She had lost so much in her life that she didn't want to sacrifice anything else, and it seemed like, if she went through with this, he would be as dead to her as her father. It took a great amount of willpower to remind herself that she was doing this for him too. If this worked, Kicker would never be an orphan; he'd grow up in a house or apartment with the parents he couldn't remember, and, hopefully, he'd grow up happy.

But he'd also grow up without her.

Was it selfish then, that she wanted to tell him what was going on? To ask him to come with them? If they succeeded, she had no idea what would happen to the timeline; what would happen to him. The Kicker she knew could very well cease to be, and she was fully ready to admit that she didn't want this Kicker to disappear; because the Kicker of a different future wouldn't be her Kicker…in fact, his name probably wouldn't be "Kicker" at all.

Yes, then, she supposed it was selfish of her; but that didn't stop her from wanting it.

"I have a mission, duh," she snapped at him in response, all these mixed contemplations taking up only milliseconds of her time; she crossed her arms, trying not to let him see the aching grief that was ripping her up inside, mourning him as though he had already gone and died on her.

Kicker's suspicion only deepened, his lips pursing tightly together as he stared her down. As he seemed to reach a conclusion, realization dawned on his face, and he let out an exasperated sigh.

"Whatever it is they're doing, you're going with them, aren't you?"

Titania's posture stiffened, and she defiantly lifted her chin even as her gut sank. This was not the way she had wanted this conversation to go.

"Yes, I am. Do you have a problem with that?"

Oh yes, invite an argument with your best friend when chances are you'll die within the week and he'll live in guilt the rest of his life because of it, a voice snapped sarcastically in the back of her mind. It certainly did nothing to help loosen the knot of apprehension in her stomach.

Kicker opened his mouth as though to snap out an angry retort—as he always, always did—and his eyes darkened; but then he only growled and viciously shook his head in response. "You know what? Forget it, it's not like you ever listen to me anyway." With that, he slammed the coffee can onto a nearby crate with an echoing clang, and turned on his heels, marching briskly away.

Startled by the unexpected response, Titania felt the knot in her stomach fold in on itself at the sight of his swiftly retreating back. She couldn't let him walk away right now; she couldn't let this be her last memory of him.

"Kicker?" she called anxiously after his retreating form, "Kicker, I'm sorry. Kicker!"

He kept walking, and she took several steps forward as though to chase him, only to stop in her tracks, clenching her fists and shaking her head helplessly.

Here they were, doing it again; hurt, hurt, hurt and fix, fix, fix. And suddenly, it was painfully obvious to her that he had every right to walk away. Somehow, and she wasn't quite sure when it had started, she had been steadily pushing him away without even seeing it, and now that he was the one walking out on a conversation for once, the one not forgiving a careless statement, it had all become so startingly clear.

As much as she had wanted him to stay in her life, the space in it that had once been reserved for him had been slowly gobbled up by her obsession with keeping her father's legacy alive; by fighting for a future that Kicker didn't believe was possible anymore. In his eyes, she was a petulant child who didn't seem quite able to figure out that, yes, touching the fire would burn you every time.

Titania turned to the crate, steadying herself on its edges, and lifted a finger to gently rub along a shrivelling leaf of the sickly plant that had been so ruthlessly abandoned there. It promptly detached from the stem and fluttered to the ground at her feet, making the ache in her chest all the more painful.

A wave of weakness rose up inside her, filled with doubts and spiralling emotions too complex to assign any one name to them. But with a burst of willpower—this is for him, this is for him, this is for all of them—and the gritting of her teeth, she slammed her titanium determination back down on top of them. They would succeed, and now, to her, it was more important than ever that they did; because she knew that, if they didn't, and they died, Kicker would blame himself and live in guilt all his life with the memory that this conversation was the last they had seen of each other. And, if there was one thing she could do to make up for adding to her best friend's—her brother's—misery all these years, it was making sure he never experienced it at all.

Inhaling deeply, as though trying to draw strength from the tainted air, Titania fondly patted the side of the coffee can, whispering half-heartedly, "Wish us luck, eh?"

Giving the forlorn plant one last, regretful look, she turned and marched out into the steadily darkening evening, holding her head high, as she knew her father would have.

As though sensing her departure, the sickly plant wobbled and, with a tiny snap that only the herd of cattle were privy to, its stem finally broke, and it tumbled over the lip of the coffee can, laying as still as the dead.


Another bump in the road slammed Titania's head into the wall.

"Ow! Frag, Ratchet!" She angrily thumped a fist on the offending interior of Ratchet's vehicle mode, which she and Fowler currently sat in the back of, while Rafael occupied the passenger seat in the cab. "Where the Pit did you learn to drive? We don't have seatbelts back here ya know!"

A snort echoed within the small confines, and Titania could clearly picture the medic rolling his optics had he been in robot-mode.

They had left the Resistance camp in the middle of the night nearly four days ago, taking only the excess in supplies that had been accumulated specifically for this mission. As they had stolen away in the shadows, Titania had wondered if this—the anxiety, the guilt, the heart pounding in her ears and feeling like everything was closing in—was what a thief or deserter felt like whenever they stood on the precarious edge between turning back and moving irrevocably forward. She tried not to think of the four of them as deserters, but she knew that, when all the others realized they were gone, having taken valuable energon and equipment, that was exactly what they would be branded. She could almost hear the murmurs and vehement snarls that had surely been cycling through the camp the day after they left.

Cowards. Traitors. Fools. Selfish slaggers.

She shook her head, trying not to think about that. In the event this mission failed, the others could and would survive without them—something that they actually had the gall to point out themselves the last time Fowler called a war council—as long as the planet did, at least; so the fact simply was, they weren't abandoning anyone. They had practically been given a free invitation to leave.

Titania sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "How much longer until we get there?"

"About ten hours," Fowler answered.

She looked up, and found him tapping his fingers against the maps spread out between them. Upon one, the colours that had once indicated separate states were faded, and the boundaries that divided them were nothing more than archaic ideas lingering in the back of a person's mind. Megatron had, after all, divided up the entire damn planet to his own liking when he conquered it, heedless of its pre-existing borders. The second map indicated these very changes the warlord had wrought; instead of the fifty states of the US staring back, it was just one large grey land, with different regions marked out in spiralling Cybertronian glyphs and vague English translations scribbled beneath them in black marker.

The second map had been obtained by Rafael when he hacked a dead trooper's processor several years ago, and that, coupled with the thirty-five year old's occasional, sneaky eavesdropping on Decepticon communications, had given the Resistance a pretty clear idea of the enemy's patrol patterns over the years.

"Why don't you try getting some more sleep," Fowler suggested after a moment, with a soft expression on his face as he scrutinized her exhausted appearance; bags under the eyes, drooping shoulders, and a noticeable lethargy in every slight movement, "I'll wake you when we're two hours out."

Titania yawned despite herself, vigorously shaking her head. "You can't sense them coming, you need me awake."

Fowler frowned at her sternly, "We'll need you awake when we get there, not half-dead on your feet. When's the last time you slept through a full night?"

Never, she was tempted to say, but instead kept her mouth shut. The fact was, she'd barely gotten eight hours of sleep in the entire past four days; her fears of a wayward patrol happening across them had kept her up most of the time, and plagued her sleep in the few hours of shut-eye she managed to snatch.

"Hmm, that's what I thought," Fowler stated knowingly, "Now, go to sleep."

An unhappy scowl slipped onto her face, but she was, admittedly, tired. She could fight if she had to, especially once the adrenaline kicked in, that she knew from experience, but she wouldn't be able to fight very long. So, reluctantly, she attempted to do as she was told, curling up on the floor, using a large, bulky, and overstuffed backpack as a pillow. It was by no means comfortable, especially with Rathet's vehicle mode somehow managing to hit every pot-hole on the road; but compared to some of the situations she'd been in, it was almost like sleeping in a real bed, not that she knew how that felt or anything.

With all the thoughts whirling around in her head, though, it felt like she would never sleep again.

"Hey, Uncle Bill…what's the first thing you're gonna tell your younger self?" She suddenly asked. For a moment, there was no reply, but then she heard him chuckle.

"I'm gonna tell'im to lose some damn weight, that's what."

"Ah; wise advice, that," Ratchet teased, and Fowler thumped a fist against the floor.

"Ah, shuddup tin can, I wasn't askin' you," the ex-army-ranger grumbled. Titania let out a snort at the display, before snuggling back into the rock-hard backpack.

"What about you Uncle Raf?"

"I…I dunno…" he replied, and she didn't have to look to know that his brow was likely furrowing in serious consideration. "I guess, if there was just one thing I was allowed to tell him, it would be," she heard the smirk in his voice as he finished; "'Get some damn contacts, glasses are annoying.'"

She let out a laugh at that, and then placed her hand, palm flat, against the warm floor of Ratchet's alt-mode.

"And you, Uncle Ratchet?"

For a long moment, the only living Autobot didn't reply. When he finally spoke—so long after she had asked that she had decided he must not want to answer—it was with such a self-recriminating tone that she wished she hadn't asked at all.

"I'd tell him not to be such a fool."

No one had anything they wished to say after that, and a somber silence fell upon the group. In the back of her mind, she could hear her father's voice telling her again what he had told her the first and last time she had asked him why her beloved Uncle Ratchet seemed to hate himself so much.

"He blames himself for a lot of things, Titania; things that nobody can change."

Shoving aside her backpack, Titania placed her head against the floor, ear pressed to the thrumming, living metal beneath her. All around her, she felt the pulse of energon through his systems, and it made the parts of her skin that were in contact with his body tingle numbly.

Ignoring the questioning stare Fowler threw at her, Titania offered the great metal being the closest thing to a comforting embrace that she could in this situation, whispering quietly.

"We'll change it together, Uncle Ratchet, I promise."

This time, he said nothing.


Well, there's that chapter. Review! They are like energon cubes! Oh, and I forgot to mention, when the time travel occurs, they will end up at a point in time just recently after "the Human Factor", but a week before the events of "Legacy"